Richard Woodman - A Brig of War

There was no doubt that they were losing the race. The big frigate was clearly visible, hull-up from the deck and already trying ranging shots. As yet these fell harmlessly astern. Drinkwater expressed surprise as a white plume showed in their wake eight cables away.

'He's been doing that for the past half hour,' said Griffiths. 'I think we have about two hours before we will feel the spray of those fountains upon our face and perhaps a further hour before they are striking splinters from the rail. His hands clenched the taffrail tighter as if they could protect the timber from the inevitable .

'We could swing one of the bow chasers directly astern, sir,' volunteered Drinkwater. Griffiths nodded.

'Like that cythral Santhonax did the day he shot Kestrel 's topmast out of her, is it?'

'Aye.'

'We'll see. It will be no use for a while. Did Lestock in his zeal douse the galley fire?'

'I've really no idea, sir.' At the mention of the galley Drinkwater was suddenly reminded of how hungry he was.

'Well see what you can do, bach . Get some dinner into the hands. Whatever the outcome it will be the better faced on full bellies.'

Half an hour later Drinkwater was wolfing a bowl of bungoo. There was an unreal atmosphere prevailing in the gunroom where he, Lestock and Appleby were having a makeshift meal. Throughout the ship men moved with a quiet expectancy, both fearful of capture and hopeful of escape. To what degree they inclined to the one or to the other depended greatly upon temperament, and there were those lugubrious souls who had already given up all hope of the latter.

Drinkwater could not allow himself to dwell over much on defeat. Both his private fears and his professional pride demanded that he appeared confident of ultimate salvation.

'I tell you, Appleby, if those blackguards had not fouled up the starboard fore t'gallant stunsail we'd have been half a mile ahead of ourselves,' spluttered Lestock through the porridge, his nerves showing badly.

'That's rubbish, Mr Lestock,' Drinkwater said soothingly, unwilling to revive the matter. 'On occasions like this small things frequently go wrong, if it had not been the stunsail it would likely have been some other matter. Perhaps something has gone wrong on the chase to delay him a minute or two. Either way 'tis no good fretting over it.'

'It could be the horseshoe nail, nevertheless, Nat, eh?' put in Appleby, further irritating Drinkwater.

'What are you driving at?'

'On account of which the battle was lost, I paraphrase…'

'I'm well acquainted with the nursery rhyme…'

'And so you should be, my dear fellow, you are closer to 'em than I myself…'

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry, don't you start. There's Mr Lestock here like Job on a dung heap, Rogers on deck with a face as long as the galley funnel…'

'Then what do we do, dear boy?'

'Hope we can hold on until darkness,' said Drinkwater rising.

'Ah,' Appleby raised his hands in a gesture of mock revelation, 'the crepuscular hour…'

'And have a little faith in Madoc Griffiths, for God's sake,' snapped Drinkwater angrily.

'Ah, the Welsh wizard.'

Drinkwater left the gunroom with Lestock's jittery cackling in his ears. There were moments when Harry Appleby was infuriatingly facetious. Drinkwater knew it stemmed from Appleby's inherent disapproval of bloodshed and the illusions of glory. But at the moment he felt no tolerance for the surgeon's high-flown sentiments and realised that he shared with Rogers an abhorrence of abject surrender.

He returned to the deck to find the chasing frigate perceptibly nearer. He swore under his breath and approached Griffiths.

'Have you eaten, sir?'

'I've no stomach for food, bach .' Griffiths swivelled round, a look of pain crossing his face as the movement restored circulation to his limbs. His gouty foot struck the deck harder than he intended as he caught his balance and a torrent of Welsh invective flowed from him. Drinkwater lent him some support.

'I'm all right. Duw , but 'tis a dreadful thing, old age. Take the deck for a while, I've need to clasp the neck of a little green friend.'

He was on deck ten minutes later, smelling of sercial but with more colour in his cheeks. He cast a critical eye over the sails and nodded his satisfaction.

'It may be that the wind will drop towards sunset. That could confer a slight advantage upon us.'

It could, thought Drinkwater, but it was by no means certain. An hour later they could feel the spray upon their faces from the ranging shots that plummetted in their wake.

And the wind showed no sign of dropping.

Appleby's crepuscular hour approached at last and with it the first sign that perhaps all was not yet lost. Sunset was accompanied by rolls of cloud from the west that promised to shorten the twilight period and foretold a worsening of the weather. The brig still raced on under a press of canvas and Lestock, earlier so anxious to hoist the stunsails was now worried about furling them, rightly concluding that such an operation carried out in the dark was fraught with dreadful possibilities. The fouling of ropes at such a moment could spell disaster and Lestock voiced his misgivings to Griffiths.

'I agree with you, Mr Lestock, but I'm not concerned with stunsails.' Griffiths called Drinkwater and Rogers to him. The two lieutenants and the master joined him in staring astern.

'He will see us against the afterglow of sunset for a while yet. He'll also be expecting us to do something. I'm going back on him…' He paused, letting the import sink in. Rogers whistled quietly, Drinkwater smiled, partly out of relief that the hours of passivity were over and partly at the look of horror just visible on Lestock's face.

'Mr Lestock is quite correct about the stunsails. With the preventer backstays I've no fear for the masts. If the booms part or the sails blow out, to the devil with them, at least we've all our water and all our guns… As to the latter, Mr Rogers, I want whatever waist guns we can work double shotted at maximum elevation. You will not fire without my order upon pain of death. That will be only, I repeat only, if I suspect we have been seen. Mr Drinkwater, I want absolute silence throughout the ship. I shall flog any man who so much as breaks wind. And the topmen are to have their knives handy to cut loose anything that goes adrift or fouls aloft. Is that understood, gentlemen?'

The three officers muttered their acknowledgement. A ball struck the quarter and sent up a shower of splinters. 'Very well,' said Griffiths impassively, let us hope that in forty minutes he will not be able to see us. Make your preparations, please.'

'Down helm!'

The brig began to turn to larboard, the yards swinging round as she came on the wind. The strength of the wind was immediately apparent and sheets of stinging spray began to whip over the weather bow as she drove to windward.

'Full an' bye, larboard tack, sir,' Lestock reported, steadying himself in the darkness as Hellebore lay over under a press of canvas.

Drinkwater joined Griffiths at the rail, staring into the darkness broad on the larboard bow where the frigate must soon be visible.

'There she is, sir,' he hissed after a moment's pause, 'and by God she's turning…'

' Myndiawl!' Drinkwater was aware of the electric tension in the commander as Griffiths peered into the gloom. 'She's coming on to the wind too; d'you think she's tumbled us?'

Drinkwater did not answer. It was impossible to tell, though it seemed likely that the stranger had anticipated Griffiths's manoeuvre even if he was unable to see them.

'He must see us…'

The two vessels surged along some nine cables apart, running on near parallel courses. Drinkwater was studying the enemy, for he was now convinced the frigate was a Frenchman. Two things were apparent from the inverted image in the night glass. Hellebore had the advantage in speed, for the other was taking in his stunsails. The confusion inherent in the operation had, for the moment, slowed her. She was also growing larger, indicating she did not lie as close to the wind as her quarry. If Hellebore could cross her bow she might yet escape and such a course seemed to indicate the French captain was cautious. And then several ideas occurred to Drinkwater simultaneously. He could imagine the scene on the French cruiser's deck. The stunsails would be handled with care, men's attention would be inboard for perhaps ten minutes. And the Frenchman was going to reach across the wind and reduce sail until daylight, reckoning that whatever Hellebore did she would still be visible at daylight with hours to complete what had been started today.